Shroud them, embalm them, cover them all over with tender pride!
Perfume all! make all wholesome!
Make these ashes to nourish and blossom,
O love! O chant! solve all, fructify all with the last chemistry.
Give me exhaustles s— make me a fountain,
That I exhale love from me wherever I go, like a moist perennial dew ,
For the ashes of all dead soldiers.
One year ago…
Hurrmmm.
My blood runs cold at the familiar sound of the motorbike turning onto the street.
He’s home early.
I drop the letter I’m reading back on the coffee table and jump to my feet. Hurrying into the kitchen, I pull out two plates and set them on the table, along with knives and forks. Offering up a silent prayer, I stick a fork into the potatoes, my heart sinking as the fork doesn’t go all the way through. No time to fix it now.
Quickly dishing up the roast beef I’d cut earlier, I put the potatoes and peas on the plates and set them on the table. Adding an open beer, I throw the dirty pots into the dishwasher and hurry into the bathroom.
I hear the engine of the motorbike stop, and the smashing glass on the driveway as he drops a bottle of beer. Tidying my hair, I wince at the stain of tears on my cheeks. I touch up my makeup in less than twenty seconds, and then I am standing at the front door waiting for him, a carefully practiced smile on my face.
He is swearing loudly at the broken bottle, and my hands start to shake as he walks, no, stumbles, up to the front door of our lower floor apartment.
“Hi sweetie,” I say as he comes through the door. “How was your day?”
He pauses and gives me a sweeping look from head to toe. Once upon a time, that look might have made me blush; now it just makes my skin crawl.
He grunts and moves into the kitchen, sprawling out on one of the chairs as he eyes the dinner in front of him distastefully. “What the fuck is this?”
“Roast beef,” I say quietly, sitting opposite him. I’m careful not to make eye contact as I pick up my knife and fork, slicing into the tender meat.
“It looks like roast crap.”
I flinch inwardly at his hurtful statement, but I keep my face carefully stoic and say nothing. He picks up his fork and stabs at his plate, and I think my heart just about jumps into my throat when he tries unsuccessfully to spear a piece of potato.
He says nothing, but raises his eyes to mine. My fork drops to the plate with a loud clatter, and the chair scrapes across the floor as I scoot back, my eyes wide.
“Troy, I can explain, I—”
“Shannon,” he says in a quiet voice, his eyes never leaving mine. “Come here.”
My mind is screaming no, but my feet seem to move of their own accord. I can hear the blood pounding in my ears as I shuffle toward him. He grabs my arm and drags me the rest of the way as he stands and begins unfastening his belt. I lower my lashes as his breathing becomes labored.
“On the couch,” he orders quietly. I turn my back and move to the living room. I hear his heavy footsteps following me, and try to suppress the shudder that runs through me.
I lie face down on the couch and squeeze my eyes shut, waiting.
“What the fuck is this?” he sneers, picking up the letter I’d carelessly dropped on the coffee table. My heart beats faster. Please don’t read it.
Dear Miss Harper,
We regret to inform you that there has been a terrible accident. Your father is…
He pauses and my eyes fly open. I turn my head to look at him, and immediately regret my mistake. He’s standing over me, the letter still in his hand and a smirk on his face.
“Daddy’s dead,” he says gleefully. “Oh, poor kitten, no wonder you couldn’t cook me a decent meal.”
I cry out as the belt cuts across my back. Tears immediately pool in my eyes, and I blink rapidly to force them back.
“Did you think I’d care that your father’s dead?” Troy is shouting as the belt cuts into my sensitive flesh again. I refuse to answer, and this only provokes him further. He grabs my arm and drags me off the couch, sending me flying to the ground with a backhand across my right cheek.
“Stupid fucking slut!” he screams, leaning down to grab a fistful of my hair and pull my head up to look at him. “Can’t you do anything right?” He kicks me in the stomach and I fall over once more, holding a protective hand against my stomach as he kicks me again.
I cough as I try to draw air into my lungs, but the small amount I receive is not enough. He’s on top of me now pinning me to the carpet on my back, his hands around my throat as he chokes the life out of me. My fingers slap feebly at his hands, but I can feel the fight leaving my body. My lungs are starving, and I see white spots dancing in front of my eyes.
Troy releases me in disgust, and my hands replace his around my neck, gasping for air. I hear the front door slam, the motorbike start up and tear down the street. I lie there for five minutes… hours… hell, I don’t know, but it’s pitch black outside as I slowly roll to my stomach and get to my feet, wrapping an arm loosely around my midsection.
I make my way into the bathroom where I survey the damage in the mirror. My left eye is an almost pretty mix of blues and purples and there are angry red fingerprints around my throat.
Something stirs inside me, something I haven’t felt in a long time.
Anger.
It bubbles inside me until it blurs my vision. Sweat runs down my forehead as my fist finds the mirror, smashing my reflection again and again, until it lay in pieces in the sink. Blood drips into the sink, staining the perfect white porcelain. But I don’t feel it.
I don’t feel anything.
Tearing strips off an old shirt in the laundry hamper, I bandage my cut hands as best I can before making my way back to the living room.
As I stare around the room that once felt homey, my eyes are drawn to the letter Troy dropped on the floor. My father is dead. I’m all alone in the world, the final person from my former life gone in a single moment. But there’s always a silver lining, and the irony is not lost on me, that even in death, Daddy is there when I need him the most. I pick up the letter and re-read the bottom sentence:
In addition to the family home and bank account, Darius also left Saddles to your care. He knew you’d make the right decision.
Saddles, Daddy’s bar. One of the last connections to my former life, save for my sister, before I came to live in this waking nightmare. My own personal hell.
Determination fills me, and I’m struck with a new-found confidence as I clutch the letter to my heart.
Troy will never hurt me again.
Today…